“Gath?” Vork whispered, worried now. “What happens?”
“You won’t believe me.”
“Yes, I will!”
“No, you won’t! Just do what I say, and—”
It happened again. He was marching up the plank, holding his hand out and trying to smile and saying “Kinsman!” Seagulls cried overhead and the deck moved under his feet and a hundred blue eyes . . .
“Gath!”
Gath had his eyes shut and his fists clenched. “I’m in the True Men, right?”
“Yes. What’s wrong?”
Thane Drakkor had a very babyish face, and yet there was something chilling in his brilliantly blue gaze. Gath stepped off the gangplank and felt the thane’s horny hand take his and he braced himself for the crushing grip . . .
It passed again. Back to the present, and the True Men. Madness! He wiped his forehead, which was streaming wet. “Nothing. Just a big day, you see. I live things too often when . . . Ah!”
There was no mistaking who had come in now. He gripped Vork’s pudgy arm. ”Now! Down on the floor!” In a moment they were both under the table. If Vork’s eyes had been eggs before, now they were poached eggs. But no one had noticed. No one laughed or came to peek. “Lie down,” Gath whispered. ”If anyone sees us, pretend you’ve passed out. Keep quiet, and listen!”
Staring at him as if at a madman, Vork sank back on one elbow. Gath stretched out, rolled over on his belly, and laid his head on his arm to keep his face off the floor, which was almost as filthy as the streets.
Feet went by. A real drunk was snoring under the table not far away.
A very small voice— “Gath?” Gath said nothing.
“Gath. I need to go pee!”
“Pee then!” Who’d notice in here? And why did he have to mention that? Gath said nothing, cursing the beer. He hadn’t drunk that much of it! Vork whimpered.
Then a pair of very large boots came into view, one of them hooking a stool back so their owner could sit down. They had been very fine boots once, with silver buckles and fancy stitching around the tops. They were wet and muddy now. Gath had never seen them before, but he risked a look at Vork. His face was paler than a fresh snowdrift—York recognized those boots, obviously. A tankard clumped down on the table.
A pair of dirty feet and bare shins joined the boots and another stool scraped. A second tankard thumped down beside the first.
“What’s going on?” Ambassador Kragthong demanded in a low voice. ”Why so many in town?”
“On their way to the moot,” the other man said. “I know that, fool. But why come to Urgaxox?” The other man chuckled. “To see if it’s true.”
“If what’s true?”
“The Impire’s pulled the legions out of Guwush. Four of them.”
“Gods’ ballocks!” the thane said. There was a sound of gulping, and then a tankard thumped again on the table. Beer slopped through the planks onto Gath’s shoulder.
“The XIIIth’s still here in town, and the XXVIIth’s inland, but that’s all. They’re jumpy as fleas, too. Hardly got enough men to watch all those longships.”
“God of Slaughter!” Kragthong muttered. “It’s an open door! It’s money on trees!”
“That’s it. And Drakkor’s here.”
A grunt. “Thought I recognized his outfit. Heard he’d gone south this year?”
“He came back. You can guess what he’s going to say at the moot!”
“They’ll follow him now! War!”
“You bet they will! Chances like this don’t come in a hundred years.”
There was a powerful silence, then, as the thane digested the news. More beer dripped coldly on Gath. In the end it was the other man who spoke, but much less surely than before.
“The imps suspect. They’ve got half a cohort on Pier Twelve. If they knew for certain that was Drakkor’s longship, things might—”
A crash of thunder made both eavesdroppers jerk in alarm. Apparently someone had banged a large fist on the table.
“If you’re hinting that I would—” The ambassador’s hairy hand had closed on the hilt of his dagger.
“No! No!” the other man said hastily. “Thinking of selling him yourself?”
“No, no, no! Of course not!” The other man was keeping his hands under the table, and they were shaking.
“Then don’t even dream it,” Kragthong growled. “Men have seen their own lungs for less.”
He released his dagger. Hands disappeared and there was another pause for drinking . . .
“You heading to the moot, Thane?” the other man asked. ”Course.”
“He’s been bragging about adding Spithfrith to his collection.”
“Ha! I’m not scared of that pipsqueak,” the big man growled. “Drakkor gives me one crooked look I may just waive ambassadorial immunity and do the world a favor.” The words seemed oddly unconvincing to Gath, although he could not tell why.
“They may strip it off you anyway. He’ll have the votes this year, with everyone breathing fire like that.”
There was a pause. A long pause.
“You might be right,” Kragthong muttered. “God of Blood! I got some important news for them. Was going to take some guests along.”
“Your decision,” the other man said cheerfully. “Been nice working for you. Get the chance, be sure and mention my name to your successor.”
The thane rumbled a few obscenities and made more swallowing noises. ”Anything else to report?” The tankard thumped down again, sounding empty.
“Rumor has it the legions have gone from Ollion, too. The caliph’s bidding high on shipping.”
“Fire and blood!” The old man belched thunderously and moved his boots back, preparing to rise. His hands came into view, taking a small bag from a pocket. It clinked as the spy’s hand accepted it.
“I’ll also give you some free advice,” the ambassador said. ”Get out of town and stay out.”
“Thanks. Kinda thought o’that myself, though.”
Thane Kragthong half snorted a laugh. “You know, I’m afraid it might prejudice my standing in Dwanish if I was present at a war moot. Just remembered an important engagement!”
“Wise,” the other man said softly.
“You’d best keep reporting to the same address. Gwurkiarg’s not so bad a fleapit after all!”
The other man laughed dutifully, both rose. Boots and bare feet moved away together.
Gath sat up, feeling very shaky. He’d known every word in advance, and yet the real thing was terrifying. He knew what he did next—was he truly as crazy as that?
Vork looked as if he’d died, painfully. He licked his lips and said nothing.
“You’re not going to Nintor, kinsman,” Gath said hoarsely.
Vork shook his head. “You knew?” he muttered.
“I knew.”
“Gath . . . You don’t think Dad’s scared, do you?” Vork’s world had just been shaken to its roots. “Scared of Drakkor?”
“Course he’s not scared, he’s a thane. You heard—important business. Come on.”
No one noticed as they emerged from under the table. Neither suggested finishing the beer. They headed for the door.
The streets outside were muddy and smelly, but the cool air was a blessing. Gath drew in great gulps of it. His heart was thudding painfully around in his chest and his throat hurt. There was no sign of the ambassador. Pigeons strutted on the street, and a pair of gnome children were stalking them like cats.
“Back to the ship?” Vork said.
Gath shook his head. “I said I needed your help, right? Want you to do something for me, a favor.”
Vork nodded agreement, but he wasn’t going to do it when he heard what it was, of course.
“Wait an hour?” Gath said confidently. “Then go back. When they ask you where I am, tell them—but not before!”
“What?” Vork shouted. “Where are you going?”
“It’s important that the message gets to the thanes,” Gath said. ”Your dad isn’t going. If he doesn’t, then the imperor daren’t, and probably not any of them. Mom can’t, obviously.”
Vork somehow managed to produce two red patches on his cheeks while the rest of his face stayed chalky white, except for the bruise, which was purple now. ”You can’t!”
“I’ve got to!” Gath said, wishing he didn’t more than he had ever wished anything. “It’s my duty.” It was hard on Mom—first Kadie, now him—but he thought Dad would have approved, and that was all that mattered now. Dad had given his life for the cause, so he could risk his.
“You can’t!” Vork said again.
They both moved aside as a wagon went by, and neither of them even noticed it.
“Yes, I can. I’m a thane’s son! I can go to the moot!”
“How? You’ve got no money!”
“Drakkor’s in town,” Gath said, and already he knew what Drakkor looked like. “You heard. He’s a thane of Gark, and he’s another kinsman, and he’s going to the moot. I’m going to go to his ship and ask him to take me with him.”